


Hot Dish

by BarlowGirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romancing Through Food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4855808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarlowGirl/pseuds/BarlowGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a chef, and Stiles is a customer. Slight angst and cake happens!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Dish

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a [tumblr post](http://barlowstreet.tumblr.com/post/127379061182/robbowmans-robbowmans-my-sister-just-got-hit) and shamelessly encouraged by some lovely people on there! Thanks to everyone who wanted it. I'm posting this simutaneously on tumblr and AO3 at the same time because why not?

Derek kind of hates Scott McCall.

Okay, that’s unfair and not entirely true. And it’s undeserved, apparently. For the most part, Derek _avoids_ Scott McCall, but all the waitstaff pretty universally says he’s nice to them, and tips well, and he’s never sent anything back to the kitchen, not even that time his order was mixed up with another table’s. He’s never hit on any of the girls – or anyone else – never left a horrible mess, doesn’t even make complicated special orders.

And Derek would kindly like it if he would never set foot in Hale’s Homestyle Eatery again, except that would probably also mean that _Stiles_ would never come back and that –

That wouldn’t be okay.

Look, Derek wouldn’t cross that line and actually… _do_ … something. Anything. Stiles is obviously with McCall. They come in the first Tuesday of every month, at least, and the way they act around each other, they’ve obviously been together for a long time. Trying anything with someone who’s in a relationship would be so completely against Derek’s morals that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He’d feel like the worst kind of scum.

So he hasn’t said a word to Stiles… basically ever.

Once, okay, once Stiles cornered him when he was going for his break and spent ten minutes raving about his cheesecake while Derek was too shocked to say anything. And the noises he made were vaguely pornographic, but he was sure Stiles didn’t mean to be like that. He probably couldn’t help it, and Derek was just some creep who had to go into the bathroom and shove his head under the tap for a while to make his dick behave enough to be acceptable in a professional environment.

It really, really wasn’t Stiles’ fault. Derek almost wished he’d find a different favourite restaurant, but then he wouldn’t come in and Derek wouldn’t get tales from whoever waited on him. Tales of him and his… antics. Not that he was unreasonable, but he was an odd duck, as Mom would say. He seemed to like bothering Erica most. She said they’d gone to school together, and Derek wasn’t sure if she was joking when she threatened to murder him for leaving her exactly six dollars and sixty-six cents in loose change, or randomly leaving a lipstick instead of chipping in for the tip.

“It’s Ruby Woo, though,” she’d said, and pocketed it.

He also had weird food things. Substitute this, leave out that, special orders everywhere. It was almost like a challenge to get it right. One that Derek took care in meeting, because he’d be damned if he had to go out and listen to Stiles complain about his food.

He wasn’t sure he was capable of it.

 

 

On a Friday night, Derek finishes the last ticket, throws the plate up in the window and calls for service. And no one comes. Come to think of it, he shouldn’t be out of tickets. Normally on Fridays there’s hardly a break all night.

When he goes to find someone, he finds everyone clustered around the kitchen door, just out of sight of the kitchen and dining room both.

“Uh,” he starts, only to get viciously shushed. “There’s food dying in the window,” he insists, more loudly.

“Okay, okay, shh,” Erica says, darting around him. She’s back a second later. “Nobody steal my spot.”

The moment she’s gone, Isaac shoves into her spot. Those two are as thick as thieves, and Derek trusts neither of them, because they’re terrifying little snots who can get into more trouble than should be possible when they put their little blonde heads together. They once plastic-wrapped his car, and then covered it in Vaseline. He kept finding parts of his car unexpectedly greasy for _weeks_.

“Do you think he’s gonna?” Isaac asks.

Boyd leans over Cora’s head. “Looks like he’s gonna throw up, so it’s either proposing, or Derek’s food.”

“Fuck off.” Derek pauses a moment before pushing forward. “Let me see.”

Because it’s _not_ his food, thank you very much.

He manages to squeeze in between Isaac and Cora, although she ends up more on his feet than not, and Isaac’s elbow has taken up residence in his ribs, and scans the dining room.

Holy fuck, that’s Scott McCall.

His stomach sinks. It’s good news, he tries to tell himself. McCall’s a good guy, and they’ve been coming in together for over a year. Obviously he can handle Stiles’… Stilesness, and it seems like he’ll treat him well. He pays for their meals more often than not, and doesn’t even text at the table while they’re eating, which is the height of rudeness as far as Derek’s concerned. Unless there are pictures of the food being taken. He’ll excuse phones if that’s happening.

And… and the small, pretty Asian girl sitting across from Scott McCall is very definitely not Stiles.

No wonder McCall looks so nervous! What kind of slimeball takes their new girlfriend to their ex’s favourite restaurant when they’ve barely been broken up for a week. They were in here last Tuesday!

Wait.

Wait, is he cheating? Is he fucking cheating? Does Stiles know??

The next thing Derek knows, McCall’s getting out of his chair and dropping to one knee in front of the girl. He asks while obviously trying not to cry, she says yes in a similar state, the restaurant bursts into applause, and Derek is very, very confused.

After a few minutes, the afterglow of a proposal starts to wear off the other patrons. Derek gets back on the line, and it doesn’t slow down again for another hour. By that point, orders have slowed enough that Boyd can handle them while Derek goes on break. Although, honestly, Boyd’s getting to the point where he could probably take lead on a Friday night, and much faster than Derek did. Amazing chef. Hopeless romantic. That’s Vernon Milton Boyd IV for you.

Derek Alexander Hale?

Creep.

Because when he glances into the dining room and sees that McCall and his girlfriend – fiancée – are still there, he can’t talk himself out of slipping into one of the back tables where he knows he won’t be seen, and eavesdropping on their conversation. Most of it is lovey-dovey bullshit that frankly Derek could have lived without ever hearing. He does find out that the girl’s name is Kira, and she seems lovely, which makes him all the more confused.

Until she says, “Stiles is gonna die.”

And Scott says, “Oh my God, I know. I’ve been practicing and he kept giving me all this advice and then I kept getting nervous and it wouldn’t come out right. I think he was about a week away from doing it for me.”

“Aww,” Kira says, and sounds ridiculously fond.

Erica drops into the chair across from him, and he nearly drops out of his skin. “Why are you spying on Scott and Kira?”

He can feel the blood rushing to his face. “I’m not.”

“Oh, they’re not paying attention to anyone but each other.” Erica raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Derek glances over, and leans closer. The noise of the restaurant covers low conversations, really, unless you’re trying hard to hear them and also have werewolf hearing, and she’s right about McCall and Kira. But he pitches his voice low anyways when he says, “I thought him and Stiles…”

He trails off, unsure where to go with that.

Erica stares at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised, before catching on and laughing. “Oh my God, no. They’ve been best friends since they were six, dude. That’d be like me fucking Isaac. Plus Kira and Scott have been dating for like four years, and Scott wouldn’t cheat on her.” She laughs again, then stands up and pats his shoulder. “Oh, man, I gotta tell Boyd that one.”

Derek gives up and goes home for the night.

 

 

“Lover boy’s in,” Erica sings, waving a ticket in the air.

“I thought Isaac had today off,” Derek says absently.

Erica actually stops dead. “Are you serious? I spent the last five minutes talking you up to Stiles for _that_?”

Derek drops his knife. “You did what?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Boyd says. “Take over here.”

Derek mindlessly takes Boyd’s space as Boyd puts his hands on Erica’s shoulders. He gently steers her back towards the kitchen doors, dropping a kiss on her forehead as they go.

“No kissing in my kitchen,” Derek manages, but they’re ignoring him anyways.

Okay, Derek thinks. This is fine. Boyd’s sensible. He balances Erica that way. That’s part of the reason they work together so well. He knows when to be quiet when she’s loud, when to be solid when she’s flighty, when to be sensible when she’s very much not, when…

When to talk about Derek to Stiles?

“Derek’s mostly the one who trained me,” Boyd is saying casually. “I started here bussing tables, actually.”

“He brought in lunch one day and Derek tried his soup while we were all eating and pretty much said that was a waste of talent,” Erica says, the pride evident in her voice. “The next day, he had Boyd working in the kitchen instead, and look at him now. Today’s special is his recipe, you know. And so’s the lemon tart.”

“The cheesecake is Stiles’ favourite,” Scott McCall says. “I _love_ the lemon tart, though. It’s amazing.”

And Derek needs to stop eavesdropping immediately. He’s a terrible person. With terrible friends who do terrible things like ask for Stiles’ phone number. Thanks a lot, _Vernon_ , Derek thinks bitterly, but no, this is what he gets. This is what he gets for agreeing to work at his parents’ restaurant with his sisters, and hiring the local kids. He gets a hopelessly interfering waitress and a hopelessly romantic chef. This never would have happened in New York.

Of course, in New York, he was desperately homesick and pathetically lonely, but still.

“You two are scrubbing the walk-in with toothbrushes,” he says through his teeth when the two wannabe-matchmakers return.

Erica waves a hand. “The cold never bothered me anyways.”

“And you?” he demands from Boyd.

“Got sick of your moping,” Boyd says calmly, and gets back to work.

Erica pauses, giving Derek a long look. “You know we’re not just trying to embarrass you, right?” she asks.

Derek exhales a frustrated sigh, absently cracking his neck and ignoring Erica’s horrified expression at the sound. “I know you mean well. But you can’t just… hit on our customers like that.”

“Oh, come on, I’ve known Stiles since high school.” She leans against the counter and Derek barely resists the urge to shoo her away and grab for the disinfectant. He cuts _vegetables_ there, for gods’ sake. “And I know what he’s like when he’s got the hots for someone. Why do you think he’s always giving you those weird fussy orders?”

For some reason, Derek’s chest goes tight and he can’t breathe right. “He’s just – he’s picky.”

“Only does that when you’re working,” Boyd says casually.

Fuck’s sake, now his _palms_ are sweating. Is he sixteen again all of a sudden? Because, objectively, sixteen was a pretty terrible year for Derek what with the whole thing where the girl he was sleeping with tried to murder his entire family. And, objectively, he was also just kind of a dick at sixteen.

Erica shrugs. “Well, I gotta go take their order anyways. You can hide away in here if you want. S’your choice. We’re not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

A second before she’s out of the kitchen, Derek makes up his mind. “Erica?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t let them order dessert.”

She grins. “Yes, chef.”

Over the years, Derek has cooked in a lot of high class places and for a lot of prestigious people. Very important people. Celebrities, other chef, his grandmother. He’s cooked for people he cared about very deeply, and people he desperately wanted to impress. However, he’s not entirely sure that he’s ever cooked a meal so carefully. He makes everything to the exact, precise specifications that Stiles sent back with Erica, making sure it’s perfect.

Then he gets started on the dessert, because Stiles rarely plays around with his dessert order. Rarely orders anything other than some variety of cheesecake. So a tasting plate it is, every flavour of cheesecake they have, and, honestly, pretty much every other dessert, too. Because what better way is there to romance someone than through dessert?

At the last moment, he adds an extra large slice of the lemon tart. Hopefully that’ll ease the last of the guilt still lingering from that whole Scott situation.

When Erica comes back with their empty plates, Derek goes and shuts himself in the walk-in fridge. He’s just gonna stay there for, like… ever.

Or at least until his face stops feeling it’s going to melt.

The door opens while Derek’s still doing the deep breathing exercises from the yoga class Boyd makes him go. Generally, the whole thing actually makes his head quieter, and challenges him more than a lot things do with the werewolf deal, but zen or whatever is _not_ happening right now.

“You gave me cake,” a voice said, and Derek nearly knocks over a box of green beans.

Slowly, he turns to look at Stiles, and…

Fuck.

He’s prettier up close. And Derek knew that, from the cheesecake incident, but that was a not very well lit corner of the restaurant. Honestly, he was so busy trying not to stare that he’d hardly been able to take in the details of him.

And the details of Stiles are… lovely. Soft, pink lips, upturned nose, freckles and moles scattered across his skin like constellations. Hair that, okay, kind of looks like a small animal nested in it, broad shoulders hinted at under the plaid shirt, _hands_. Derek wants to look everywhere at once, and feels almost blinded at the same time. If he spent the rest of his life looking at Stiles, he thinks wildly, he’d still be unable to take in every detail of him.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, belatedly.

“And also lemon tart?”

“Uh, yeah.” Derek rubs the back of his neck. “Kind of an apology for thinking Scott was a dickbag cheating on you.”

Stiles’ face does _something_. Derek doesn’t have the words to explain the lightning fast way it moves, but he loses himself for a moment trying to catalogue and decode it.

“Me and Scott?” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “He’s totally head over heels for Kira, dude. And I love her like a sister. I wouldn’t do that to her.” Suddenly, though, he’s moving closer, shutting Derek into the back wall of the walk-in. “You thought it was the other way around though? Protecting my honour there?”

He says it with most smart-assed grin Derek has ever seen, rolling his hips in a ridiculous swagger as he walks. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is, somehow, and Derek doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Did you like the cake?”

Stiles nods, closing the last of the distance between them. His warmth radiates from the closeness between them, sinking into Derek’s bones like a hot shower after a run in the rain. A person could get addicted to that kind of comfort. If they weren’t careful, a person could forget how to live without it.

Derek’s not sure he wants to be careful anymore.

“I liked the cake,” Stiles says, and oh-so-sweetly kisses him.


End file.
